18

CHAPTER 18 – THE SCARS REMAIN THE SAME

The patrol car screeched to a halt in front of the Presidential Residence. Squall steadied himself with one hand against the headrest, and thrust open the car door with the other, nearly sending it flying off its hinges. Irvine mirrored him on the other side. Both stepped out onto the inner courtyard as the sirens and flashing lights drew closer from behind. Deling's still-smoking remains lay contorted on the pavement off to the side. He paid neither any mind as he raced around the car towards the estate. The gunslinger matched his pace.

"Hold onto my arm!" Squall told him, extending his right without breaking stride.

"Huh?" Irvine shot him a confused look. "Sorry bud, I don't like ya that wa-"

"Just shut up and do it!"

The sniper complied as the familiar rush gathered in his leg muscles. Aware of the weight differential he would need to compensate for, he poured in as much energy as he could manage to ensure they would clear the third floor landing. He picked up speed at an alarming rate, pushing the clinging Irvine to his limits just to keep up. He reached the base of the residence, and leapt with all of his might.

He soared upward, carried higher and higher by the wind's propulsion. The dead weight fixed to his arm hooted in awe. They quickly neared the speaking podium, and landed just before it with a hard thud; he had just cleared a height of more than 20 feet to reach the top level. Without Irvine weighing him down, the jump would surely have carried him as high as the digital time display. He might not have even had enough strength left to conjure an ample flotation buffer to break his fall; he'd already used up an enormous amount in warding off the sorceress' mind probing. He was approaching his limit. His physiological tolerance for harnessing the sphere's energy would return with time, albeit too slowly should he have to face Edea within the hour. Going up against her without it would be suicide.

"Relying on charity to fight your battles will only get you so far, especially when that power can be revoked just as easily. The only thing in this world you can depend on is your own skill as a fighter. That's something no one can take away from you."

"Thanks fer the lift!" Irvine groaned. He pushed himself up, and drew his shotgun from its holster. "Now, c'mon! We've gotta rescue her!"

Squall heaved himself up, and maneuvered around the podium. They shot straight for the broken down doorway at the back, crossing a wide circular stretch of metal. Each stomp of their boots brought with it a hollowed-out reverberation from below. The caution signs painted around its circumference indicated it was the closed up carousel silo resting beneath their feet. They darted over top and into the adjoining corridor. Bestial snarls echoed from the room at the end, prompting him to pump his legs even harder. He barely even noticed the maintenance hatch Caraway had mentioned as he blew by it.

Please, be alive…

He burst into a dimly lit hall lined by sheer white drapery. Most of the translucent fabric dangled about in tatters, shredded by the creatures' claws. One thrashed about on the floor to the right side; its teeth gnashed as it fought to untangle itself from the curtains. The second stood hunched on the opposite side. It bore down on Rinoa, who stood shaking against the wall. The fringes of her duster sweater had been torn to ribbons, revealing a set of fresh crimson gashes across her thighs and the side of her torso. Her face was the epitome of terror. She turned to him with fearful eyes. Her quivering lips parted, only for her to be drowned out by the lizard's roar as it pounced.

Squall reflexively opened his own mouth, only to be prematurely silenced by a deafening blast from just beside him. The monster careened through the air with a guttural squeal, and crashed to the floor on its side. He turned back to Irvine. Smoke wafted from the barrels of his shotgun.

"I'll put 'er down if ya take care o' the other one," he quipped as he pumped the weapon. The empty shells clattered to the floor.

Drawing his gunblade, Squall sped across the hall to second beast. It snarled as he charged in, having freshly extricated itself from the drapes, and hunched itself back to strike. He hoisted the weapon over his shoulder, and brought it down just as the lizard leapt for him. He pulled the trigger as the blade met its jagged green scales. The slash cleaved its neck and a sliver of its upper torso from the rest of its body. Both halves fell to the floor, and promptly crumbled. There was no blood; to his amazement, the lizard had instantly reverted back into stone upon death.

A second shotgun blast drew his attention back to the other side of the room. Irvine stood with his boot atop the other lizard's torso. The smoking shotgun hovered over its head, now blown to pieces; scattered fragments of stone littered the floor all around.

"Use the bodies to barricade the doors," Squall ordered Irvine.

He sheathed his blade, and hurried over to Rinoa's side. She sat motionless upon the floor, her eyes unblinking.

"Are you alright?" he asked, kneeling down. "Can you walk? We need to get into position before we're discovered. I'll patch you up once we're in the clear."

Still, she did not budge an inch. She seemed to have become catatonic, numb to the world even as blood continued to seep from her wounds.

"Rinoa? Are you okay?"

"I… I was scared," she finally eked out. Her hand seized hold of his jacket's sleeve. "Really… really scared. I just… I thought I could help. I thought I could take care of myself, but… I was wrong. I couldn't fight alone."

You're not ready for all this…

"Just stick close to me," he told her, taking her wrist with his other hand to help her up.

She trembled as she fought to find her footing. Squall slung her arm over his shoulders, and guided her back towards the connecting corridor. Irvine fell in once he'd finished piling up the shattered statues. Together, the three passed back into the hallway. Squall guided them to the nearby hatch ingrained into the floor. The sniper knelt down, took hold of the latches, and flung it open. A steel ladder descended down a short drop, roughly six feet.

"Can you climb?" Squall asked Rinoa as Irvine went ahead of them. "Or do you need us to lower you down?"

"I… I think I'll be alright," she muttered.

She removed her arm from around his neck, and crouched down. A small wince of pain escaped her gritted teeth as she clutched at her clawed left thigh.

"Don't push it," Irvine told her. "Jus' let yerself down nice an' easy. I'll catch ya."

Seeming to realize how difficult taking the ladder would be for her, Rinoa lowered herself to her rear, and draped her legs over the edge. She slid herself along until gravity took its course. Irvine caught her in his outstretched arms. Squall moved into position, and descended the ladder. He pulled the trapdoor shut as his head cleared the floor. With all light from above now cut off, a row of orange emergency lamps lining the walls stretched down a low-clearance maintenance shaft ahead. He touched down on the grated metal walkway, and followed after Irvine and Rinoa. The gunman kept his head hunched under the low ceiling as he pushed on.

The shaft soon opened into a wide circular silo. The pointed top of a large mechanized carousel sat in the center. Eight mannequins resembling a troupe of jesters were evenly spaced around it, their eerie silhouettes casting shadows in the dim interior lighting. A scoped hunting rifle was propped up against the nearest mechanical dancer. The wooden make of its grip suggested it was not military issue.

Besides hurried footsteps trampling on the silo's cover above, Squall could hear little else through the metal plating. The parade's blaring music had long since faded away. It would no doubt return in due time as the float made its second pass through the square from the west end. From there, provided they could still trust Caraway's itinerary, it would circle back around to the station, and return up the main drag. He looked to his wristwatch: 19:37.

"About 20 minutes," he announced, turning to the man of the hour. "Irvine Kinneas, it's in your hands now. Make that shot count."

The sniper did not respond; his head remained bowed despite the abundance of headroom. Without a word, he strode forward to the rifle, hoisted it up, and slung the strap over his shoulder. There was no longer any trace of his usual cocky attitude about him.

"It's the nature o' the sharpshooter. Comes with the territory an' all. We hone our instincts fer years. We learn to live with the loneliness. To love the thrill o' the anticipation. The pressure o' the moment, that instant o' tension just before the trigger's pulled, to hafta focus your whole bein' into a single bullet… it's a rough life out in the field, an' every man faces it alone."

Oh, he must be concentrating.

For all his bluster, Irvine did seem the type to take his work seriously. He shuffled to the carousel's fore, and seated himself. Squall turned his attention to the still limping Rinoa, and gestured for her to sit beside one of the mannequins.

"Come on, let's get those wounds treated before they get infected."

The girl obeyed. She steadily lowered herself to the statue's base as he reached for his medical supply pouch. He knelt by her side, pulling out a small bottle of disinfectant solution, a sheer cloth, and a handful of bandages. He uncorked the bottle, and poured some onto the rag.

"This might sting a bit," he warned her.

"I'll be fine," she insisted. She stuck out both her legs for him.

He wiped and patted gently across the tears on her outer thighs. She predictably winced every so often, but otherwise was a well-behaved patient. Eventually, he moved up to the talon marks on her waist. She pulled the shredded blue fabric aside to expose the ripped black tank top beneath; the double layering was perhaps what had kept the creatures' claws from digging in further. None of the gashes were as deep as his own facial scar, leaving promise that they would mend with time. Once sanitized and left to air-dry for several minutes, he began gingerly wrapping the gauze-coated bandages around them.

"Squall," she softly spoke. "Thank you. I'm sorry for… well, everything."

Now more than ever, her reckless meddling had truly irked him, and worse still, made him genuinely anxious; not even Selphie's close brush in Dollet, when she'd nearly been trampled by the rampaging spider-bot, had gotten him so worked up. Perhaps it was his sense of duty to protect his employer. Or perhaps it was simply that he didn't want to live with her death hanging on his conscience for the rest of his life. Whatever the reason, he couldn't bring himself to scold her; he was simply content to know she'd survived.

"It's fine," he brushed it aside. "What SeeD would leave his employer to die?"

"It's always business with you, isn't it?"

It's what keeps things cut-and-dry.

Emotional detachment and mental acuity went hand-in-hand in the field. He couldn't afford to let himself be swayed by his own personal biases, lest the entire plot come crumbling down around him, nor be caught up in his personal vendetta with Seifer. Provided he'd been brainwashed, he was no less a victim than the helpless masses in the streets.

Almost as pressing a dilemma was whether or not to tell Rinoa. Surely, she of all people deserved to know. Still, there were consequences to consider. She'd already nearly thrown her life away by charging headlong into the lion's den. Who knew what she would do were she to learn of her boyfriend's fate, and especially if Squall should be forced to cut him down? He deliberated for several more minutes. As he finished wrapping the bandages around her waist, he'd made up his mind. Whether or not it were the best choice, it was clearly the right one.

These wounds being so fresh, she probably won't be too fast on her feet anytime soon.

"Rinoa. When the gates opened and the parade started… up on the sorceress' float… standing by her was-"

"Seifer?"

"You know?"

"So, it's true," she mumbled, hanging her head in disappointment. "I didn't want to believe it, but… he's been brainwashed too, hasn't he? Does that mean… you're going to have to fight him?"

"I… hope not," Squall hummed. "It would make sense that if the sorceress dies, her mind control will be broken. In the end, it's all up to Irvine."

He turned his head back across the carousel. The sniper hadn't moved from his seated position. He sat slouched forward with the rifle leaning casually on his shoulder, his eyes hidden beneath his hat. Squall glanced at his wristwatch again: 19:58. His pulse quickened. The nervous energy drew him to his feet, and across to Irvine's side.

"Just a couple more minutes," he said, dropping to one knee. "This is it. Are you ready?"

No response. The sharpshooter moved not a muscle.

"Irvine? Are you listening? It's almost ti-"

Squall cut himself short. He'd ducked his head to peer under the cowboy hat's brim. Irvine's face was fraught with peril. His eyes, normally so brazen, now showed only panic. His mouth rapidly sucked in short, shallow breaths. This was not a man prepared to take the shot that would save the world.

Is he freaking out?!

"What's wrong?"

"I… I can't do it," he mewled. His voice trembled as he fought to eek each syllable out. "I-it's too much."

"What are you saying?!" Squall snapped; he only just managed to keep his voice hushed from Rinoa on the other side. "I thought you were the top of your Garden's sharpshooter division? Don't tell me you're getting performance anxiety!"

"It ain't that. It's jus'… I can't kill her. I mean, c'mon, don't ya have any idea what yer askin' me to do here?"

"Do you?!"

He could no longer contain his exasperation. With just a minute until the carousel rose, there was no time for discussion.

"She's overthrown the entire government, brainwashed half the city, and nearly killed Rinoa! What do you mean you can't kill her?! This couldn't be more simple!"

"So, you'd be able to take that kinda shot so easy?" Irvine muttered. "Without a second thought? No regrets?"

"In a heartbeat. And I will if you won't."

Stony silence fell between them. The disobedient sniper raised his head at last. Gone was his distress, replaced by what looked to be disgust.

"I always knew you were a selfish bastard," he growled.

His usual accent had completely fallen away, his enunciation now far more rigid.

"But I didn't want to believe you had it in you to be so heartless. And here I thought you might be the only sane one left."

"What the hell are you-"

The abrupt whirring drowned out Squall's confusion. The carousel beneath his feet began to rumble. He steadied himself as its neon lights roared to life. The jesters started to twirl on their fixed circular bases, sending Rinoa tumbling forward to to duck the nearest one's spinning leg. Before Squall could catch his breath, the platform jettisoned up. The jolt knocked him and Irvine onto their stomachs. The silo cover above had automatically parted, revealing the digital time display stretching up into the overcast sky. It read 20:00:11.

Squall raised himself as soon as the carousel came to a stop, and peered out over the Presidential Square from its apex. The sidewalks on either side remained packed with townspeople. Armored guards up and down the street kept them out of the road; it was impossible to tell whether they too had been hypnotized, or were sticking to their duty out of fear for their lives. Further in the distance, the Iguion Gate perpetually stood. The marching band and dancing troupe strode beneath, with the float trailing just behind.

"On your feet soldier!" he snapped to the downed sniper. "As your commanding officer, I am ordering you to take this shot!"

"I told you, I can't do it!" Irvine roared as he hoisted himself up. The rifle still hung by its sling around his shoulder. "Don't you have any idea who that is?!"

"She's evil!" he furiously spat. "That's what you wanted to know, wasn't it? If our enemy was really pure evil? What more proof do you need?!"

"And what happened to 'right and wrong aren't what separate us'?! You damn hypocrite!"

"So help me, when this is over, I'll…"

Enraged as he was, Squall struggled to think of a sufficient threat to coerce Irvine into action. His thoughts ground to a halt as a heavy metal clank sounded in the distance. The marching band's music cut off in time with it. He swiveled his head with Irvine to the archway; its front and rear gates were now lowered, trapping the float inside. Their element of surprise was slipping away by the second.

"Do it!" he commanded. "Or give the rifle to me! This is our one chance to make sure this ends tonight!"

"Sorry, but… I just can't-"

"Please, Irvine."

Rinoa had snuck up on them so quietly, Squall hadn't noticed. Despite her reassuring tone, her eyes remained plenty anxious.

"It's like I said before: we're all counting on you. There's already been too much suffering tonight, and it's only going to get worse if we sit by and do nothing. So, please… take the shot. For Squall… for me, the others, and everyone else down there. For the world's sake. There's no other way."

The sniper stood fast, his grip on the rifle's strap tighter than ever. Seconds continued to tick by. There was now little hope of the plot's success even should he manage to get a shot off; the sorceress would surely see it coming, and easily deflect the bullet. Squall's worst fears had become reality.

Just then, a brilliant flash of light erupted out of the corner of his eye. He turned back to the gateway in the distance as a sudden burst of lightning exploded from within. It split into four strains of ricocheting electrical energy as it was deflected, and impacted on the arched ceiling. A blast of ice spellcraft followed from the pavement beside the float; it shot upward, tearing through the throne's feathered backdrop.

"The others!" Squall realized. "They're attacking on their own!"

"Do you think they can win?" Rinoa asked hopefully. "I mean, they have to. They're all we have left now, right? I just… I hope they can take her down without having to fight… him."

He ignored her and turned back to the stunned sniper, shooting him the fiercest look he could manage.

"Listen to me. We've just been thrown a life-line. While she's distracted with them, now's your chance to redeem yourself. It'll be harder to get a clean shot, but… well, you're the one who let it get to this point. Don't let them throw their lives away for nothing."

Irvine grit his teeth in frustration. He took a knee, pulled the rifle from his shoulder, set the barrel on the edge of the carousel, and brought the scope up to his eye. In the distance, the magical bombardment had ceased. Several small figures scrambled aboard the float to face down the sorceress and her bodyguard. Squall couldn't have asked for a better diversion; every single pedestrian and guard lining the street had turned their attention to the gate. The narrow gaps between each bar would be the only obstacle now, provided their sniper could find the stomach to finally pull the trigger.

Squall plugged his ears with his fingers, anxiously waiting for the shot to come. His focus stayed fixed on the float. He could just barely identify Selphie's yellow attire from afar. Two others stood by her side across from Seifer. Squall counted the seconds as they passed. Ten, then twenty. And yet, even as Seifer moved into defense against Zell's incoming first strike, there came nothing. He glanced back to Irvine, who remained frozen to the spot with his eye pressed to the scope. He noticed the tremble in his supporting hand; the hesitation was still there.

"Sometime tonight!"

"Don't rush me, dammit!" Irvine snapped. "I just… need a little time."

"You've already had plenty!" Squall chided him. He reached out to grab the rifle's barrel. "Quit stalling! I'll do it myself if I have-"

He yanked the rifle hard from the side. The sniper jolted in place, fumbling to retain his clasp on the weapon. With a momentary slip of the finger, the long overdue gunshot erupted into the night.

"Well, don't I just feel special!" Seifer sneered as Quistis pulled herself up onto the float.

His smirk was more wicked and scornful than any she'd ever seen him wear. His fierce blue eyes swept across her, Zell, and Selphie in mocking; their opening salvo of spellcraft had done nothing to faze him. And yet, despite his delirium, his general mannerisms were no different. As opposed to the masses gathered on either side of the gate, Seifer seemed perfectly cognizant. Perhaps Edea hadn't deemed it necessary to give him the same level of influence.

The sorceress sat on her gilded throne to Seifer's rear, having handily deflected Selphie's initial lightning blast. Her face, at first surprised, now showed only irritation. She spoke not a word, content to leave the proceedings to her bodyguard.

"Did you come all this way just to see me?" he cackled with a swipe of his gunblade. "You really didn't have to go to so much trouble. We were planning to head back home for a friendly little visit, anyway!"

"You've hit a new low!" Zell growled. He pounded his fist into his palm. "I don't give a fuck if you've been brainwashed. By the time I'm done with you, that scar's gonna be the nicest looking part of your face!"

"Zell, calm down!" Quistis intervened. For a brief moment, she was their instructor once again, breaking up yet another heated scuffle. "Seifer, listen to me! You're not thinking straight. She's manipulating you, just like everyone else here. This isn't who you are, and you know it. Fight her control!"

Troublesome though he'd always been, she had no wish to strike Seifer down if she could avoid it. The blonde youth shifted his eyes to her. His lips curled into a twisted grin.

"Oh, Quisty. Still playing at caretaker to the bitter end. And now, it's more clear than ever what a pale imitation you are. You know nothing of me, or her for that matter. My mind is perfectly sound. It's you who've been twisted into Cid's army of obedient drones! You who've let yourself be molded into expendable pawns for the coming war! But not me. My eyes have been opened to the truth of what SeeD stands for, and it's finally brought me to my destiny! To my romantic dream! I've become the Sorceress' Knight!"

Quistis redirected her eyes to Edea behind him. The corners of her violet lips drew upward into a predatory smile. Whether or not Seifer was presently under her spell, he'd become her puppet all the same.

"Your dream?" Selphie meekly spoke up, her nunchaku held at the ready. "But I thought… what about Rinoa? What about her dreams? I thought you loved her! And now, because of the sorceress, she's-"

"Rinoa?" he snorted, his voice dripping with apathy. "Don't make me laugh. Sure, we had some fun times together, but she's served her purpose. The only woman I need in my life is right behind me. Good riddance."

"Now I'm pissed!" Zell roared.

In a flash, he was off. A set of earthen gauntlets materialized around his fists as he tore across the platform. Seifer raised his gunblade to parry the blow. The sword's reinforced metal frame held fast against the conjured stone. His feet skidded back as he fought against the momentum. A moment later, he released it. He fell into a quick dodge as the following left hook whipped past.

Selphie rushed in from the side, her nunchaku fluidly weaving through the air. He blocked each strike in lightning succession. Zell righted himself, and charged back into the fray. His next swipe met sheer air as Seifer ducked well ahead of the blow. With the fist drawing near Selphie as it passed over their enemy's head, she instinctively held her weapon out in both hands to protect herself. Not letting the opportunity pass, Seifer sliced upward. He pulled the trigger as the blade met the nunchaku's metal chain. Both halves severed from one another, the sudden loss of tension between her arms throwing her off balance.

A swift kick to the girl's legs followed. She toppled backwards onto the platform, both iron bars falling from her grasp. Quistis drew her whip as Seifer quickly rolled away. She glanced again to Edea; the sorceress remained seated on her throne, dispassionately observing the battle. That she hadn't seen fit to join in was the only thing they had going for them.

Quistis took her first step forward, and then stopped. A roar of thunder sounded in the distance. And then, an earsplitting howl of agony. Zell toppled over right in front of his opponent. His conjured gauntlets faded away as he fell on his side. He grasped for his right leg, still roaring unintelligibly in anguish. Just below where his knee-length jean shorts ended, blood spilled from a lone bullet wound.

"Zell!" Selphie screamed his name

She scrambled back to her feet. Without turning, Seifer trained his gunblade to her. She froze on the spot. To the float's rear, Edea brought her raised right hand up before her; a shimmering field of protective energy washed over her body. Quistis looked on in horror, unable to believe her eyes: Squall and Irvine had survived the brainwashing and moved into position to take the shot, only to have missed and wounded their own teammate. All hope was truly lost.

"Looks like your wings have been clipped, chicken-wuss," Seifer snarled as he looked down on Zell. "It's been nice knowing ya."

He raised his blade high for the killing blow. Acting purely on instinct, Quistis channeled her GF's energy as fast as she could. A barrage of hailstones shot from her palm. The flurry caught the would-be executioner off guard, forcing him to leap away toward his liege. Selphie sped over to Zell's side as soon as the coast was clear, and hauled him back to the fore of the float. Quistis stepped forward into the divide, placing herself squarely in the middle of the confrontation.

"You just don't know when to quit, do you?" Seifer grumbled. "You've lost. Just give up and come quietly. We do want at least one of you alive, so…"

He trailed off in mid-sentence. The look on his face shifted from irritable to confused within seconds as he gazed straight on by Quistis. A swirling hiss of energy reached her ears over Zell's heaving gasps. She craned her neck back slightly, keeping one eye on Seifer all the while. A pulsing white light gleamed on the edge of her periphery. Her curiosity piqued, she risked turning her head further to determine its origin.

What she saw beggared belief. Selphie knelt by Zell's side with her hand held over the gaping wound. The shimmering light shone forth from her palm. Under its focus, the stream of vital fluid spilling from his leg began to subside, as the bullet slowly pushed itself out from his flesh. Zell grit his teeth as it was ejected, and finally let out a gasp. The wound further sutured itself, the bloody tissue regenerating rapidly. Quistis was at a loss for words; she'd only seen the healing power of holy spellcraft used once before, in the presence of the commandant.

"My, my."

She spun herself back around at the callous, feminine voice. Edea had risen from her throne at last, the white drapery hanging from her golden back-piece swaying as she moved. Seifer stayed fixed to the spot in puzzlement. She strode forward to stand beside him.

"And here I thought I would need to hunt down every SeeD alive to find that sphere. But to have it so kindly delivered right into my hands… will tonight's wonders never cease?"

"But… it doesn't make sense," Seifer muttered. "She's not the one who's supposed to have it."

"Yet she does," the sorceress hissed. "There can only exist one such sphere. And now, with it in our possession, we have no further need for an invasion on the Garden. We shall instead proceed with a full-scale missile bombardment."

Quistis' eyes bulged in alarm. Though she understood nothing of the cryptic machinations at play, the mention of a missile strike was plenty clear to her. She would need to act quickly while the two were still engaged in their discussion. She closed her eyes in concentration, furrowing her brow as she willed the icy chill to manifest itself; it would take every ounce of strength she could pour into her summoned entity to overpower Edea.

"Understood," Seifer acceded. "And what about our other woman of interest? You're sure they won't be keeping her there?"

"It would be folly of Cid to do so," Edea sneered. "He's done everything he can to hide her whereabouts from me for all these years. They've never kept her in one place for long."

Quistis' energy continued to build all the while, threatening to break loose at any moment without her expert control. Suddenly, a rigid stiffness took hold of her legs. It broke her concentration as it moved up her thighs. She looked down to discover her entire lower half encased in stone. She could no longer move a single muscle in her legs. Her mouth hung open in horror as the entombment spread ever further. Within seconds it engulfed her torso, arms, and finally reached her neck.

"Fortune has favored us thus far this night," the witch continued. "Perhaps at least one of these insolent SeeDs will provide us the clue we seek."

The stone finally took her eyes, blotting out her vision. Seifer's muffled response was the last thing she heard before the world faded away completely.

"And on that… got a feeling… on his way… fun with him first…?"

The patrol car's engine roared as Squall floored the pedal. He sped out of the Presidential Residence's front gate, and down the main avenue. He blared the horn all the way; what soldiers lined the street were quick to move aside.

He'd left Irvine atop the carousel with but a single stern order: 'Get Rinoa out of here'. With no time to dawdle, he'd leapt over the edge to the podium, and then down into the inner courtyard. He'd landed on the pavement with a far rougher impact than expected. The flotation buffer had barely cushioned him at all; he'd already expended too much of his GF's energy. In the commotion amid the paramedic detachment all around, he'd managed to secure an idle vehicle with the keys still left in the ignition.

This is it…

At nearly 80 miles-per-hour, it was seconds before he reached the archway. Squall slammed the brakes, pulling hard on the wheel. The tires screeched as he drifted sideways and came to a rest beside the gate. The carriage jerked from the sudden deceleration. His seatbelt was all that kept him from hurtling out of the driver's seat. He unlatched it, and threw open the door. Not wasting a moment, he circled the hood to the iron bars. He unsheathed his gunblade, and slashed it across; with a pull of the trigger, the stainless steel cut through with ease.

He darted through the opening to reach the parade float, sheathed his weapon, and climbed atop the motorized cockpit at the front. The pilot inside paid him no mind as he trampled on the glass ceiling, being either still under Edea's control, or having numbly accepted his fate. Squall grabbed hold of the carpet hanging down from the platform with his right hand. He reached up with his left to clamber aboard, when it was caught in mid-air. He looked up. A pair of blue eyes divided by a familiar scar stared right back at him.

"Please, allow me."

Seifer viciously heaved him up onto the float. He toppled onto the platform face-first, grunting through gritted teeth. He pushed himself to his knees as his rival paced back to stand opposite him. As he raised his head to look around, his breath caught in his throat. Life-sized stone effigies of the gateway team stood among them; a stunned Quistis to one side, a horrified Selphie kneeling over a gasping Zell to the other. The three appeared as if forged by a master craftsman, so detailed were their expressions and attire. And yet, these were no mere statues. He glared ahead toward their wicked sculptor, seated on her throne with both arms crossed.

"Do you like the decorations?" Seifer called to him from her side. "Don't worry, you'll be joining them shortly. Just as soon as I've had my fill of you."

"Snap out of it, Seifer!" Squall roared, pulling himself to his feet. "She's brainwashed you! You have to fight her control! Don't make me have to cut you down!"

"You, cut me down?" he laughed with a swipe of his gunblade. "And since when have you ever been able to beat me in a fair fight? I don't know what's funnier, that you think you can win, or that you have the nerve to call me the brainwashed one!"

He thrust his free hand into his jacket. It returned with his GF clasped within its fingers.

"You're the one who's allowed that rat, Cid, to brainwash you. I always knew there was something rotten about SeeD. Training us to use these damned things, building up an army of impressionable children programmed to obey blindly, and did you ever stop to question why? What the endgame of it all is? I'll tell you. It's all because of her!"

He slammed the sphere down on the throne's arm rest, and stepped forward, Edea not batting an eye.

"He fears her power, because he knows he can't control her. And so, for the past 12 years, he's been building up an army of naive kids like us, for the sole purpose of hunting her down. That's what we've been raised and trained for all these years! To be obedient little cogs in his war machine! But I won't let him get away with it. She's done more for me than that old codger ever has, and I'll strike down anyone who tries to lay a finger on her. And that includes you!"

Squall stood dumbfounded, struggling to wrap his head around Seifer's thought process. If the headmaster had deemed this woman a threat, as she'd so clearly demonstrated herself to be, what issue was there with organizing a military organization to combat her? Further, the idea that he'd intended them to become mindless drones ran counter to the very lecture he'd given Seifer following the field exam. He had to have been brainwashed. Nothing else made the slightest bit of sense.

"If that's the way you want it," he growled, drawing his own gunblade. "No mercy. Just the way you like it."

"You know me too well… oh, what am I saying? You don't know a thing anymore!"

Seifer charged forward with his weapon drawn back. Squall read it as an incoming thrust; he parried with his own blade as the tip drew near, swatting it away. He transitioned into a sideswipe, which his rival was quick to block. The two slabs of steel ground together as each strained to overpower the other. Seifer finally released and aimed low for a slice to the legs. Squall spun his blade in a half-circle. He batted the strike away, following through with an upward slash. Seifer disengaged, leaping backward. Hoping to keep the pressure piled on, he flipped the gunblade back around and rushed forward.

Intent on drawing the battle to a close as quickly as possible, Squall sliced downward again, and pulled the trigger. He was met with an equally ferocious counter slash. The two blades thundered together, and just as violently parted with tremendous recoil; the force sent him tumbling backwards, fighting to maintain his footing on the carpet. Seifer seemed to fare no better. And yet, as opposed to Squall's befuddlement, his rival's face betrayed only amusement.

"Did you really think I'd let you slice mine in half?" Seifer smirked. "Come on, Squall. How many times have we fought? I can read your motions like a book by now. You always tense up when you're about to pull the trigger, and brace for the recoil. Makes it easy to counter."

Squall stood motionless, unable to muster a response. It unnerved him to know he'd so blatantly telegraphed his strike without realizing, to where Seifer could casually block it with a pull of his own trigger.

"Word of advice: Don't try it again. I'm having a real good time right now, so don't push your luck."

There was no need for a warning. Squall recognized the futility; his revolver's chamber only had three rounds left, as opposed to however many each of Seifer's magazines held. The math clearly did not rule in his favor. With no other recourse but a standard swordfight, he hefted his gunblade back up, and charged in.

The two furiously exchanged blows for well over three minutes. Their weapons' raucous metal clanging rang out under the archway, just as it had two weeks ago on the Alcaud Plains. Only now, this was no longer a matter of rivalry, but a life-or-death battle between two swordsmen, with the fate of the world carried on each of their blades. Never in their most heated sparring sessions had Squall pushed himself so hard. He could not and would not back down, even knowing a victory against his rival would be literally only half the battle.

"Alright, I think that's enough for now."

Seifer stepped aside as Squall brought his gunblade thundering down. It seemed to drop of its own volition, embedding itself into the carpet where he'd just been standing. His eyes went wide; he'd certainly not put so much force into the strike. A swift uppercut connected with his jaw. His fingers loosed themselves from the grip as he tumbled backwards. He lost his footing, and fell onto his back at the fore of the float. The tip of the gunblade stayed stuck into the platform, leaving him defenseless as Seifer bore down on him.

He scrambled to raise himself, only to be forced down yet again. A mysterious weight kept him pinned to the platform; he could barely raise a finger, much less sit up. He turned his eyes to Seifer, looming over him with his hand outstretched. A dark mist emanated from its clutches. Squall's pounding heart skipped a beat at the revelation. He knew he hadn't misjudged his strength; the gunblade had been forced down by the same gravitational strain which now held him in place. It made no sense to him why Seifer had so casually broken his vow again, or how he, who possessed a fire elemental GF like his own, could utilize gravity spellcraft to such effect. Moreover, he had very clearly left his sphere with Edea before the fight. How could he have possibly conjured the spell to begin with?

"Surprised?" his rival scoffed. "It's like I said: she's done more for me than Cid ever has."

"What happened to… not relying on charity?" Squall eked out through his clenched jaw. "Fighting your battles… like a 'real man'?"

"Yeah, I used to think that. But I've come to realize, if there's one thing more important to me than self-reliance, it's loyalty. Not blind obedience, but genuine devotion, to someone worthy of it. You and your mercenary ilk have none, much less that sniveling old man you fight for. And so, if it helps me to deal with an ungrateful traitor like you, I'll gladly make use of this power given to me. Power that easily dwarfs yours."

"You son of a-"

"Hush now. I could easily kill you, you know. Be grateful that as it stands, you're worth much more alive. But before I pass you off to her, I think a bit of poetic justice is in order. Here, let me add another scar for you. I promise it'll only hurt for a second!"

"Stop!"

The voice cried out just as Seifer prepared to swing his blade high. His vision trailed up and over Squall.

"Rinoa?" the blonde spoke. "So, you came out to see me, too? I'm flattered."

Please don't tell me she could be this stupid!

"Don't you have any idea what you're doing?!" she shrieked. "Who you're fighting for?! Snap out of it! She tried to kill me! Look at these wounds!"

"She did?"

Seifer's tone seemed to carry a hint of curiosity rather than surprise. He craned his neck back to Edea.

"Please, don't do anything to this one. We can lock her up with the rest, but she's got nothing to do with this plot."

"What… what are you saying?!" Rinoa cried, sounding as though she were on the verge of breaking down. "You can't be serious! What's she done to you?!"

"Oh, I'm deadly serious, sweetie. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I've got new priorities now… and old ones. And once I'm finished with this mewling wolf, I'll be right with you."

He raised his gunblade high against the archway's curved ceiling. Thunder boomed in the distance as the weapon reached its apex, heralding Squall's defeat. He closed his eyes tightly, recalling the unbearable pain he'd suffered before. A bloodcurdling cry erupted. Several adrenaline-charged moments passed before he realized it hadn't been his own. The slice had not come.

A metal clanging followed. The sound forced his eyes open. He raised his head, only then realizing the gravity spell had been broken. Seifer clutched at his right arm in anguish, his gunblade having fallen to the carpet below. A wide splotch of crimson spread from his forearm. A gaping bullet wound formed its epicenter.

Irvine!

The sharpshooter had saved him. Seifer backed away, howling in torture, and fell to one knee.

"Squall!" Rinoa called his name. A pair of hands grabbed his shoulders from behind. "Are you okay? Can you stand?"

And to think, I was just asking you that earlier.

"I'm alright," he grunted.

He rose to his feet with her assistance, looked her in the eyes, and prepared to give her yet another reprimand, when he stopped. Her expression was understandably anxious, but also tinged with genuine relief. He couldn't bring himself to take what little hope she had found away.

"Thank you," he said instead. "Are you okay? Those wounds… you shouldn't be moving this much."

"I'm fine," she assured him. "I can fight if I'm with you. That's why I'm here."

"You stupid little boy."

Squall turned to face the menacing hiss. Edea had risen from her throne, and made her way over to Seifer's side. Seemingly too disgusted to even look at him, her eerie yellow eyes were instead locked to the two of them.

"I allow you your vain pursuit of glory, only for you to make such a fool of yourself?! Pathetic. Must I do everything myself?"

Her gleaming stare positively fiendish, she raised her left hand into the air above. Gleaming energy gathered in a swirl of brilliant light, reflected off her golden back-piece. In a flash, a half-dozen razor-sharp icicles hovered aloft. Each was easily the length of Squall's gunblade still stuck into the platform.

"You have caused me displeasure this night," she scathed. "For such insolence, I will have blood."

With a forward flick of the wrist, the icicles shot forth at top speed. Squall shoved Rinoa aside; she tumbled down out of the projectiles' trajectory. His right shoulder exploded with pain the next second. The impact knocked every breath of wind out of his lungs. Time slowed to a crawl, his bodily senses going numb from the overwhelming agony. He craned his eyes down, already hazy and disoriented, to see a jagged ice spike impaled through him.

A shriek sounded from nearby, but a murmur against the raging storm of his mind. He stumbled backwards, his legs on the verge of giving out at any moment. And then he fell, toppling from the float. He careened towards the pavement for what felt like minutes; all of time and space ground to a halt. His glazed vision stayed fixed on Rinoa, staring down at him in dismay.

In the midst of it all, he was reminded of another such fall he'd taken. One from a rocky cliff-side to the crashing waters below, as a man who'd given his life to secure an escape for his comrades, and for even the faintest hope of a brighter future for himself. Squall's comrades stood imprisoned in stone up on the platform, his employer left defenseless, and the world at the mercy of a wicked sorceress. As his vision faded away into darkness, one last lingering thought guided him into the abyss.

What… did I just die for?